When I dieI do not expect anyone to cry.For God only truly knows whyI was here and understands my alibi.

Why waste time concerning yourself with others,It will only cause your emotions to smother.Your "heart" will control your mind as a person demands another,And you realize life is too quick to make commitment with fellow brothers.

There is no point in expecting people to change,People are naturally evil, selfish, and intolerable to engage.Should I die at this moment of uneventful arrange,I will be pleased and satisfied that I have lived at least within my own range.

One less person for society to care for,One less person for a family to worry about and galore.A person who cares too much is filthy poor,In respects to fulfilling a life in modern society contaminated with whores.

These whores are not just sluts on random streets,These whores are the nasty, vile people you meet.It's sad that people choose to conform to the standard beat,What fun is it to merely live an existence without unique feat?

I am not special; if you think about it, no one is,I am ready to blow and erupt like a Coke filled with fizz.The individual is nothing, nothing more than a part of the "biz,"The "biz" which takes people from reality into a world of abyss.

When I die,You may as well bake and cut yourself a pie.Rejoice in the fact that you have one less person to encourage or "fry,"I, for a fact, can't wait for Purgatory and the chance to try.

At 2/6/2010 4:24:50 PM, Puck wrote:Oh it's not from you. Is it suicidal? No. Is it despondent? Yes. Is that normal? Within reason.

Ha. Actually, I created this poem within two minutes. I have a lot more to say, but don't really feel like typing it. Plus, I really should have checked it and revised it, but it was a kind of "quick-thinking" operation.

At 2/6/2010 4:24:50 PM, Puck wrote:Oh it's not from you. Is it suicidal? No. Is it despondent? Yes. Is that normal? Within reason.

Ha. Actually, I created this poem within two minutes. I have a lot more to say, but don't really feel like typing it. Plus, I really should have checked it and revised it, but it was a kind of "quick-thinking" operation.

At 2/6/2010 4:24:50 PM, Puck wrote:Oh it's not from you. Is it suicidal? No. Is it despondent? Yes. Is that normal? Within reason.

Ha. Actually, I created this poem within two minutes. I have a lot more to say, but don't really feel like typing it. Plus, I really should have checked it and revised it, but it was a kind of "quick-thinking" operation.

At 2/8/2010 9:12:17 AM, alto2osu wrote:Just out of curiosity, when you say "valid," are you referring to thematic qualities, literary qualities, or "truth" qualities? I have opinions on all three, but you may not like them...

Ha. Trust me, I would have come up with something much better had I spent more than two and a half minutes on it.

When I dieI do not expect anyone to cry.For God only truly knows whyI was here and understands my alibi.

Why waste time concerning yourself with others,

mmm... Tell that to Jesus when he sends you to Hell for me, wouldja

It will only cause your emotions to smother.Your "heart" will control your mind as a person demands another,And you realize life is too quick to make commitment with fellow brothers.

There is no point in expecting people to change,People are naturally evil, selfish, and intolerable to engage.Should I die at this moment of uneventful arrange,I will be pleased and satisfied that I have lived at least within my own range.

One less person for society to care for,One less person for a family to worry about and galore.A person who cares too much is filthy poor,In respects to fulfilling a life in modern society contaminated with whores.

These whores are not just sluts on random streets,These whores are the nasty, vile people you meet.It's sad that people choose to conform to the standard beat,What fun is it to merely live an existence without unique feat?

I am not special; if you think about it, no one is,I am ready to blow and erupt like a Coke filled with fizz.The individual is nothing, nothing more than a part of the "biz,"The "biz" which takes people from reality into a world of abyss.

When I die,You may as well bake and cut yourself a pie.Rejoice in the fact that you have one less person to encourage or "fry,"I, for a fact, can't wait for Purgatory and the chance to try.

I encountered this poem today. Should I be concerned?

Oh, if it's not your poem... I guess not, but whoever wrote it should stop being a whiner.

"He who does not know how to put his will into things at least puts a meaning into them: that is, he believes there is a will in them already."

Metaphysics:
"The science.. which deals with the fundamental errors of mankind - but as if they were the fundamental truths."